


He Wasn't Happy (vent)

by KiwiKiddo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Angst with somewhat happy ending, Blood, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, a lot of it, bye, i needed to let this out so what better way to do so other than making alex suffer, i really hate myself ok this vent was needed, idk tbh probs not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiKiddo/pseuds/KiwiKiddo
Summary: me venting through alexander because i suck





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is really dumb and i promise ill get back to my multichapter fic when i get my motivation back and my head functions somewhat normally again. i might have to start taking meds soon so lets see if that helps

He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy at all. The problem was that he had no idea what to do about it. He wasn’t happy and he knew that. His parents knew that. His friends knew as well. Still, nobody seemed to know what to do about it. All he could do was be unhappy and hoping it would end soon. Whether he meant his life or the sadness, he wasn’t sure. He just wanted one of them to end soon, before he’d take matters into his own hands for real.

 

His own hands. When did he become so disgusted with them? With what they’d done and what they couldn’t do. For what they’d have to do.

 

Someone was saying his name. He expected that. He always did. It wasn’t the first time he’d zoned out in the middle of dinner. He concentrated on coming back. Back to the voice. Back to dinner. Back to his family. For now, that would be enough.

 

“Alexander are you alright?” Martha. He lifted his head to look up at her from across the dinner table. Her facial expression was concerned but knowing. She knew the answer. They all did. It was always the same and it’d continue to be the same. For how long, he didn’t know. That seemed to be everything he didn’t know at the moment. He was so aware of everything else. Everything else including things he shouldn’t.

 

“Yes. Just tired.” he’d reply, and Martha would leave him alone and that would be that. End of conversation. He’d be lying. He knew. Martha knew. George knew. Lafayette knew. They didn’t say anything though. They didn’t know what they would say anyways. What was there to say that wouldn’t be lying to themselves?

 

Dinner continued in a blur. It was always the same anyways, it wasn’t like he’d miss anything. It was easier this way. No one would talk to him and he wouldn’t talk to them either. It was easier this way. It was easier this way. It was easier this way.

 

They would talk to each other. It would be about him, he knew that, and he would make no comment on it, just tune out and allow himself to exist for a moment. He had no problem with them talking about him. He’d heard it all before. They’d heard it all before too. Everyday it was the same thing, over and over. 

 

He’d wake at five, and his eyes would burn with lack of sleep and unshed tears. Just like always. He’d push himself to sit up at the edge of the bed instead of going back to sleep. He’d think. Just like always. The only difference about the morning would be the way he thought about things. Sometimes, if he was lucky, it wouldn’t be too bad to think. He’d wonder what book he should get started on that day even though he in the back of his head he would either finish it that same day or never. He’d ignore that. He would wonder what they would have for dinner even if he knew he’d barely be able to taste it. He ignored that too. He wondered how his friends were doing. Told himself they were probably doing fine, ignoring the little voice that told him they were fine because he wasn’t there- breathe, exist. He’d wonder what his boyfriend would be doing that day. Ignored the voice telling him they were only still together because Thomas pitied him. Ignore it. Ignore it.

 

On days like that, he wasn’t happy. He’d be okay but not happy. At least, he would think to himself, it was better than nothing. He appreciated the okay days. It wasn’t everyday he was lucky though.

 

Some days, he would wake up at five, and his eyes would be burning from lack of sleep and unshed tears. He’d attempt to push himself to sit at the edge of the bed instead of going back to sleep, but he’d fail. He’d lie in bed and he’d stare at the ceiling. He’d think. Just like always. The only difference about the morning would be the way he thought about things.

 

He’d wonder what book he should get started on that day even though he knew he would either finish it that day or never. He couldn’t ignore the voice chanting  _ never _ and he’d decide against reading at all. He would wonder what they would have for dinner even if he knew he’d barely be able to taste it. He couldn’t ignore it. He wondered his friends were doing. Told himself they were probably doing fine, duly noting the voice telling him they were doing fine because he wasn’t there- hold back the tears pricking in his eyes at the thought. He’d wonder what his boyfriend would be doing that day. Couldn’t ignore the voice telling him they were only still together because Thomas pitied him. Can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore it.

 

On days like that, he was not okay. Everything seemed to much. He would pray for the day to go faster.

 

He could barely breathe. Felt panic wash over him. There was nothing he could do about it though. Somehow, he seemed to always find himself alone in those moments where he craved human contact the most, someone to hold him, someone to pat his back and stay with him until he was empty of tears and he was no longer shaking.

 

He didn’t realize someone had tried talking to him again until his head was lifted from it’s fixated stare at his full plate, to meet his adoptive mother’s worried eyes. She would be near tears. He didn’t have to look at the other’s to know they would be too. He could feel the traitorous tears sneak up on him as well. He shouldn’t be used to this. He knew he shouldn’t.

 

Despite everything, he knew how lucky he was. This seemed to be one of the things that were clearest in his mind. How lucky he was to have such a loving and supportive family. They still stuck with him through all of his shit, through all of the tears, through all of the trips to the hospitals that seemed to come at least twice a month by now. Through it all, they were still there, and they still loved him, and he knew that. Despite how much the voices would taunt him and say they were only doing it for whatever selfish reason they’d come up with, he knew they loved him. He loved them too. This single thing seemed to be the extra tug he needed to come through a full day, even if that day only consisted of lying in bed and existing for no one but himself and his family. Right now that was enough.

 

After Martha had cleaned the dishes (she’d put Alexander’s food in the fridge just incase, even though they both knew he wasn’t going to eat it), she’d put on a movie and they would all be sitting together on the couch. He wouldn’t be watching it. His mind would be occupied. They knew that. They were all fine with pretending for now. For now, he would think, what a ridiculous thing to say. They all knew it wouldn’t be just for now. Another thing they’d pretend. Everything was pretend now. He didn’t blame them. Nothing was helping. He’d be more than ready to pretend for them. Even if they knew that was exactly what he was doing.

 

They could pretend everything was okay for a while.

 

Going to his room halfway through the movie, claiming he was tired, was nothing new. They all knew he wouldn’t fall asleep before three. He would be writing. Writing everything down that was on his mind, and he could never seem to finish because every time he’d finish a paragraph, a new one would form in his head until he’d pass out. Then he’d wake up two hours later to start the day.

 

He sat on the side of his bed and stared. Thought. Stared. Thought.  _ Do it _ , they would chant, and who was he to deny them? Nobody would care.  _ It’s in the drawer. It’s in the drawer. You know where it is, you know what to do. You know everything, why bother doubting? _ And they were right.

 

He looked at his hands as they shakily reached for the bedside table’s middle drawer. His disgusting hands. He took a shaky breath and opened it. Just a few times, he’d tell himself. He was lying. He knew that. He seemed to know everything. Why was he doubting it now?

 

He took what he came for, grabbed his phone and took both the items to the bathroom. He’d have to apologize first.

 

**_I’m sorry_ **

 

He would text the groupchat. All of his friends, his brother, and his boyfriend. They all knew what it meant and within seconds he’d get bombarded with  _ please don’t _ ’s and  _ we love you _ ’s. He wouldn’t respond. They knew he wouldn’t. They would try anyways.

 

It won’t be long now, he thought, before his brother would see it and come get him. He would have to be fast.

 

He brought the razor as close to his elbow as the underside of his lower arm would let him. He sat for a second. He was doubting himself once again, asking himself if it really would be worth it when his parents would just come save him again and he would still be alive. Fuck it. He began slicing his skin, wincing at the pain, as he cut deeper and deeper the closer he got to his wrist. Maybe, this time, he could get it right. He instantly felt dizzy as blood drained from his arm, staining it, his clothes, and the floor as it dripped from his arm. Fe felt bad that Martha would have to clean the floor again. He found himself running out of time to feel bad when he heard shouting from the living room. He took a shaky breath as he weakly attempted to give his right arm the same fate.

 

When he failed to do so properly, he laid down on the floor, trying to ignore his raging headache and avoid passing out. He briefly wondered why he wouldn’t want to do that, seeing as if he was lucky enough, he’d hit his head on the counter on his way down. He tried standing up, tried to get him new plan through when the door was opened and he collapsed again. God, would he regret this when he woke up again. He knew he’d wake up. He always would. Just like last time.

  
  


***

  
  


Waking up surrounded by friends shouldn’t feel as horrible as it did. He looked around at everyone before someone realized he was awake and pulled him into a hug. Eliza, his brain supplied. She was saying something, but her words were muffled. Hs sight was still slightly blurry, and even though his brain could recognize Eliza, it still felt cloudy. This was routine.

 

He would wake up surrounded by loved ones. They would all be crying and he would apologize, lying when he told them he would never do that again, and he would be squished between everyone in hugs.

  
He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy at all. But the thought of being alright someday seemed more encouraging now than ever. Maybe he should make good on his promise.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr about how this was a waste of time
> 
> https://kiwikiddo.tumblr.com/


End file.
